Chapter Text
A semblance of peace worms its way through the Inquisition again when we stop to camp for the night after the navigators declare that if Corypheus’ forces are anywhere near as lost as we are, we will be safe from them until morning. Temporary living quarters, a medical tent, and a supply station are set up within the hour.
Nary a word passes between the recruits at first. It reminds me too much of my early days of templar training; the hours spent each day in a dimly lit Chantry, meditating to train my focus until the silence all but vibrated in my ears in a desperate attempt to break its own existence. It was a silence of agitation, and in a way, of grief.
It doesn’t last. Shock wears off like a bandage ripped from a thousand wounds one by one. Some whisper to themselves: prayers, affirmations, or just their train of thought. Others burst into tears with no warning. And the rest, myself included, keep themselves busy with whatever work they can find, maintaining a façade of normality despite the horror in everyone’s eyes.
I barely even notice I’m stumbling from exhaustion until someone clears their throat loudly nearby. I raise my head from a supply list to find Blackwall trying to catch my gaze. He seems to have survived the day mostly unscathed, save for some obvious bruising on his face and snow matted into his beard.
“No offense, Commander, but you look like a dead man walking,” he says bluntly. “Go get some food; I can take over for a while.”
The headache lurking in the back of my thoughts threatens to overtake me. I scrub at my temple to push it away.
“I’m fine,” I growl, returning my focus to the supply list. Did I already send the next box of lyrium potions to the medical tent? Suddenly the memory escapes me. I would have crossed it off had I done so, but maybe I forgot—
Blackwall clamps a hand on my shoulder, effectively drawing me back to the present. I sigh defeatedly.
“You and I both know that after a loss, soldiers look to their commander for confidence,” he says much more quietly. “We need you at full strength.”
Even in my befuddled state, I know he is right. There is something to be said for the unspoken camaraderie between those who know the burden of command. The heaviness in Blackwall’s eyes is surely a mirror of my own. I nod slowly.
“Good man.” Blackwall accepts the mountain of paperwork without complaint and settles in.
The journey to acquire food from the ration line passes in a blur until I am left searching for someplace to sit. Most of the inner camp is too busy, but it is the only place with campfires going. I wander around the back of the medical tent, hoping for some relative solitude, and am surprised to find Solas leaning against the structure. At first he seems to be asleep. However, at my approach, his eyes flit open long enough to identify me before closing again.
“Commander Cullen,” he says by way of greeting.
I debate leaving to find someplace more private, but something inexplicably compels me to stay. I haven’t had more than a passing conversation with the elf; by all accounts he seems cool, detached, and veritable scholar in matters of the Fade. The field of common ground between us seems narrow, to say the least. Yet I sit a small distance from him, back pressed against the tent wall, and pick through the rations. We share a silent companionship for quite some time that leaves my mind more at ease.
Perhaps it is because he was such a close friend to…to Ellana. It seems pathetic, to hold on to such an abstract piece of her, but once the distractions are gone and my mind is left to its own devices, it feels as if that is all that keeps me grounded.
The migraine is worsening. A dull ache crescendos to full-scale throbbing, heightening every sense in all their miserably glory. The cold whipping at my face, the insistent gnaw of hunger, the grief threatening to sweep me away.
Haven is gone. Destroyed under my watch. We haven’t even had enough time to count the dead. The only certain thing is that someone I have come to care very much about numbers among them. Had anyone told me I would feel this way when the Inquisition scouts dragged Ellana unconscious before me after tumbling out of a rift, I wouldn't have believed them. Back then she was just a suspect in chains. An anomaly. A risk. But after that first attempt to seal the Breach, when she walked free through the Chantry doors, I found myself captivated by the mystery of her.
I remember being struck that she was very tall for an elf, only a few inches shorter than me, and how striking she could be for a woman so gentle. Her stabs of wit were surprising but endearing on the rare occasions she gave a little more of herself to the world. But mostly she hid herself away. There was always something guarded about her, something wounded and cautious and afraid.
That mask started to chip after she caught me bickering with Roderick outside the Chantry, and when she joked, something vibrant poked through the cracks before she shut herself in again. I felt the inexplicable urge to kiss her then, but I never acted on it. Not when blood smeared her lip on the training field and she insisted I’m not finished yet. Not when she would visit her horse every morning during drills. Not when she laughed until her face burned red.
I didn’t kiss her before she left to face that dragon. Her easy dismissal of her own life plays on a loop in my memory. She left thinking that she was unimportant. And now she is buried somewhere beneath the snow and I will never get the chance to tell her differently.
I bring a hand to my forehead to ward off the ache to no avail. The rations lay uneaten in my lap.
I nearly fling them in surprise, however, when a figure seemingly materializes in front of us out of nowhere. Solas and I both look around to see that strange boy from before. Cole, my brain supplies. Urgency plays openly on the boy’s face, along with frustration.
“It’s not sticking. No one will listen!” Cole exclaims. He speaks directly to Solas, seeming not to notice my presence. He fidgets both hands close to his chest, anxiety betrayed in every motion. His ghostly blue eyes go vacant. “Buried, broken, blood bubbling onto the snow. The hurt is so much louder than before, a song that wasn’t meant for her.” Awareness returns to Cole’s gaze and he turns directly to me. “You can still reach her if you try.”
Desperation oozes from the poor boy; clearly he is trying to convey something, but what? And why in the Maker’s name is he talking in riddles? I fumble for a suitable response, but Solas abruptly leans forward.
“Are you certain?” he demands.
Cole nods profusely.
“Which direction?”
Cole points somewhere back the way we came.
“What?” I prompt.
“Listen to me carefully,” Solas says gravely. “Ellana is alive.”
His words hit like a cold splash of water. How could he have possibly gotten that from what the boy said? What even is Cole? Is he human, or something else entirely? And hope, a terrible, fleeting hope flickers up from the depths. It wars violently with distrust.
I shake my head. I can puzzle over the logistics later. Right now, if there is even the smallest chance Ellana could still be out there…
“What do you need me to do?” I ask.
Respect flashes across Solas’ face for a brief moment before his urgency returns.
“Follow Cole; he will lead you to her. And hurry,” he urges. “She will not have long out in this storm.”
I rise to my feet and turn to follow Cole as he takes off towards the mountains, but pause when I realize Solas isn’t behind me. A glance over my shoulder reveals he is on his feet as well, but he is moving back towards the entrance to the medical tent.
“Aren’t you coming?” I call back to him.
Solas shakes his head, expression unreadable.
“Healers are in short supply. I am needed here,” he replies. “Go.”
He does not have to tell me twice. I hurry across the camp, trailing the sight of Cole’s massive hat through the crowd, stopping only when I hear Cassandra’s voice over the clamor.
It would be unwise to march through a blizzard with just the pair of us, I remind myself, slowing my footsteps. And I find that the idea of sharing this quest with a friend is a comforting one, even for the simple fact that confiding this hope makes it feel more real.
Cassandra is sat by one of the campfires with Leliana and Josephine, hair smashed flat on one side with sweat and eyeshadow severely smudged. A pile of maps assaulted by quill markings is spread before them. They all look up at my approach.
Ellana is out there somewhere, trying to find us. She’s hurt. I can’t even begin to explain how I know, or rather how this strange boy who showed up on our doorstep with an army of templars behind him knows. But I can’t bear the thought that she might have survived a blasted dragon attack and ended up freezing to death in a blizzard anyway, I try to say, but the words die on my lips.
“It’s Ellana,” is all I get out.
Part of me expects Cassandra to bombard me with questions, ensuring we know for certain before braving a blizzard on a hunch. Instead she nods, straightens the sword on her belt, and wordlessly stands beside me.
Gratitude floods through me. I nod to her, lost for words, and together we head into the mountains behind Cole until the whirling snow swallows everything else.
It must only be a short time later, but it feels like an eternity before our path converges into a narrow overpass shadowed by two massive rock faces leaning towards one another. We reach the base of the slope leading to them when Cole stops and points to the lip of the hill.
I blink and the space in front of me is empty; my intuition whispers that something should be filling it, but I have no memory of what.
My focus draws to the top of the hill when a hunched figure stumbles over its threshold, so stiff and coated in white that at a distance, if not for the green sparks issuing from her hand, I would have thought her a specter.
My heart stops beating in my chest for a moment.
“There! It’s her!” I raise one hand to my forehead, squinting against the wind.
“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra calls, and we take off up the slope, battling knee-high drifts of snow to reach her.
Ellana sways on her feet. She lifts her head blearily and catches sight of us, freezing in her tracks.
I rush to close the distance between us; only a few dozen feet left to go.
Ellana's gaze locks onto mine, narrowing the world to a single moment, and soul-crushing relief crosses her face. A short burst of air mists before her lips, exhausted laughter. And then she collapses.
My stomach lurches. No, no. Not when we were so close.
Another few seconds and we both skid to a halt beside her. I stoop down and lift Ellana carefully from the snow, cradling her with my back to the wind to shield her. She lies so still that only the shallow breaths expelling from her mouth let me know she is still alive. Blood is matted into her hair, plastered to her forehead in a swirl of red and brown and black. Her left shoulder is twisted at an awkward angle. Crimson stains her leg from the thigh down, coating whatever wound is there so completely that it’s impossible to tell the damage at a glance.
The Mark is another matter entirely. Her glove has been seared away, revealing a rift in her skin far wider than I remember. Now it spans across her whole palm, emitting a sickly green glow. The skin around it is charred black. I don’t dare touch it for fear the entire appendage will crumble.
“Ellana!” I call before I remember myself. “Lavellan, can you hear me?”
Blessedly, Ellana forces her eyes open. Snow sticks her eyelashes together. Her eyes search my face but remain out of focus, distant. Her lips are turning blue by the second. She is no longer shivering.
Shifting Ellana so I don’t drop her, I rip the mantle from my shoulders and bundle it around her as tightly as I can. Her armor is soaked through; this should buy us time, at least.
“She’s frozen half to death,” Cassandra gasps, stooped on Ellana’s other side. She probes her unmarked hand, fingers bloated and blue, and receives no response. “We must get her back to camp.”
Agreed. She…she won’t last much longer out here. For the first time in my life, I almost find myself wishing I was a mage. Summoning fire to keep her warm long enough to reach camp would be child’s play. The absurdity of the thought stays with me as I anchor my arms beneath Ellana and lift her against my chest, holding her close to offer what heat I can. She whimpers softly at the sudden movement, eyes drifting shut.
Cassandra moves to my side, adjusting Ellana’s position to make my hold more secure. Her cheek comes to rest at my shoulder. Short, shallow breaths tickle my chin, no more substantial than a whisper. Ellana is limp now, seemingly unconscious, but after a moment her face drifts forward, nuzzling instinctually closer to the warmth of my bared neck. I shiver when the icy tip of her nose makes contact. But warmth fills my belly too, thawing the nest of fear there in a sensation I haven’t felt in a long, long time.
What are you doing to me? I think helplessly, fondly, and start at a brisk pace down the mountain.
I should be trying to keep Ellana awake. Keep her talking. There are so many things I want to say to her, but she remains unresponsive, even when I hit an uneven patch of snow and almost topple down the hill face-first.
Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm.
“You’re safe, Ellana,” I murmur, fully conscious that Cassandra is within earshot but past caring.
I shall endure.
“Just hold on. Please hold on,” I whisper.
What you have created, no one shall tear asunder.
Ellana's breaths grow more shallow with each passing moment. All I can do now is keep my eyes forward, and reciting the Chant’s familiar words in my mind is all that keeps my mind sane and my body from succumbing to weariness as we trudge back the way we came.